From Paul Hoffman's "Wings of Madness: Alberto Santos-Dumont and the Invention of Flying":

"That night he celebrated in Maxim's, the famous restaurant at No. 3, rue Royale that is still in business today. He was one of Maxime Gaillard's first customers, when the dark-wooded bistro opened in the early 1890s. The restaurant initially catered to carriage drivers who passed the time while their bosses dined elsewhere, but soon they too discovered its fine, hearty cuisine - French onion soup, oysters on the half shell, poached lobster, sole in brandy sauce, roast chicken, scallops of veal, grilled pigs' feet and tails - and displaced the coachmen. As a night spot for the well-to-do, Maxim's was ideally located in the center of the city, on the same block as the Automobile Club, the aristocratic Hotel Crillon, and the elite Jockey Club. Maxim's attracted what working class Parisians derisively called des fils a papa, rich young men who spent their fathers' money on women and wine. When it came to wine, Santos-Dumont fit right in. Maxim's did not serve lunch in those days. The restaurant opened at 5:00 PM for the evening apertif, dinner was served from 8:00 until 10:00, and supper from midnight until dawn.

Santos-Dumont always came for supper and sat at the same table in the corner of the candlelit main room. With his back to the wall, he could watch everything that transpired, and the goings-on in the wee hours of the night were legendary. A beautiful blonde who became a silent movie star used to shed all her clothes, climb onto one of the tables, and sing torch songs. A Russian named Aristoff arrived every morning precisely at four and consumed the identical meal: grilled kipper, scrambled eggs, minute steak, and a bottle of champagne. For his bachelor party, a French count ordered the waiters to dress up as undertakers and arrange tables to look like funeral biers. Maxim's was the spark for many romantic assignations. In the 1890s strangers rarely approached each other directly but flirted with their eyes across the dining room. Many couples got together because of the intervention of the notorious "Madam Pi-Pi," who sat outside the bathrooms and cleaned the toilets after each use. A woman who was interested in a man would excuse herself to the toilet and slip Madame Pi-Pi her address or phone number along with a tip. When she returned, the man could go the bathroom and pay Madam Pi-Pi for the information.